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Friday, November 30, 2012

Here's another of the posts that I'm catching up on today. I introduce, The Erroneous Talibani.

BLURB:

The Erroneous Talibani showcases all the
essential components of the classic espionage novel. Exotic settings, broken
hearts, treacherous allies, love, violence, redemption and vengeance spin
through the book, which moves at a breakneck pace worthy of the best examples
of the genre.

Greg Damet, an Annapolis graduate with
eight years in NavalIntelligence is
recruited by the CIA where he
meets and falls in love with Jacquie Dean. Together they are sent to
Afghanistan to work with the Special Forces. Greg is sent into the field while
Jacquie remains at Bagram Air Base.

During Greg’s tour of duty, his plane is
shot down, eats raw snake to survive and is ultimately captured and beaten
nearly to death by the Taliban. He is discovered by Aysha, the daughter of a
tribal chieftain and she nurses him back to health. During his recovery, the
two develop a romantic attraction for each other. It is also while he is
recovering that he is able to obtain information that has dire international
consequences, information supplied by a CIA
mole. Armed with this information, Greg is forced to kiss a tearful Aysha
good-bye and do whatever it takes to get to the American Embassy in Islamabad.
Greg’s initial action there is key to unraveling the mystery of the mole’s true
identity.

First Chapter:

Hamid Khalifa is
the head of the Mid-East Division of the CIA.
Born in 1971, he is the son of Mr. and Mrs. Hafez Khalifa who immigrated from Saudi Arabia to
the U.S.
in 1965. At 18 he attends Harvard
University and is there
the required time to earn a B.A. and then an MBA in business. After graduation,
he joins the U.S. State Department and spends seven years with them before
accepting a position as assistant to the head of the Mid-East Division of the CIA. Two years later, he is offered and accepts the
job as head of the division.

It is now February 3, 2007 and Hamid
makes a call to long-time friend Larry Lamont, the envoy to the deputy U.S. ambassador
to Pakistan.

“Good morning,
Larry, Hamid Khalifa!”

“Oh yes, Hamid.
How have you been? Haven’t seen you since you left the State Department. How
has the CIA been treating you?”

“I haven’t had a
moment to call my own since I left there four years ago. It’s a real rat race,
but I’ve enjoyed every minute of it.”

“Well, as you may
remember, this place can get rather hectic at times too. So what can I do for
you today, Hamid?”

“I was wondering
if I could meet with you in your office sometime soon to discuss an item of
some importance.”

“Of course, Hamid,
would you care to give me some idea of the subject matter?”

“I’m sorry, Larry.
It’s something I’d rather not discuss over the phone.”

“I understand. Why
don’t we meet here tomorrow at eleven
o’clock and perhaps we could have lunch together afterward. Would
that fit your schedule?”

“That sounds
great, Larry. See you at eleven.”

It is eleven A.M., February 4 and Hamid
approaches Larry’s secretary. “Hamid KHalifa to see Mr. Lamont.”

“Oh, yes, Mr.
Khalifa. Mr. Lamont is expecting you. Go right in.”

“Hamid, you’re a
sight for sore eyes. You look great. Have you been working out?”

“Working in, would
be more like it, Larry. Working out is not part of my life right now. I wish I
had the time.”

“Well if you’re
that pressed for time, this meeting really must be important. I hope you’ll
have time for lunch.”

“Of course! I
always have time to visit with old friends.”

“Well, let’s get
to the point. What’s on your mind?”

“I have recently
learned of the negotiations that have taken place between the U.S. and India as well
as the U.S.
and Pakistan.
As the CIA is responsible for the
securing and safeguard of all intelligence that is needed in times of crisis,
the information you have regarding the safeguards used by the Pakistani
government to secure their nuclear weapons is information that should be
available to and guarded by the Central Intelligence Agency. This information
should be readily available for our agents to act on a moment’s notice. I strongly
feel, as head of the Mid-East Division of the CIA,
this is information the Agency should have.”

“I heartily agree
with you, Hamid. However, I’m sure you understand I must clear this with the
ambassador.”

Final agreement is
reached and the requested information is released to the CIA on February 27.

Sound interesting? Here's where you can get your own copy!!

Ebook: Hardcover:

BIO:

Richard Asner
describes himself as having led a “very fruitful life,” and it would be
impossible to dispute him. A veteran of the U.S. Marines, which he joined at
17, he went on to graduate from the Naval
Academy, like his hero
Greg Damet. He then spent eight years as a naval aviator teaching midshipmen at

Northwestern University during the last three years of
his flying career.

Mr.Asner moved
his focus to engineering and spent thirty years working in that field in the
Chicago area before retiring. His primary enthusiasm is working out in his
health club, but the keyboard will continue to compete with the weight room as
a focus for his energy.

Thursday, November 29, 2012

I'd like to share a very interesting book with you. Vonnie's book caught my attention with the blurb and kept my attention with her amazing story. Check in later for my full review and see why I love this book!

When I came to Paris for a bit of adventure, I
never imagined I’d foil a bombing attempt, karate-kick two men, and run from
terrorists while wearing a new pair of stilettos. I met a German musician, a
gay poet from Australia, and the most delightful older French woman.

Don’t worry. I’m safe…the jury’s still out on
yummy Niko, though. The more champagne I drink, the less reserved I feel. What
an unforgettable fortieth birthday!

Alyson

EXCERPT:

When Niko ended the mind-blowing kiss, he pulled her closer,
if that were possible, and

whispered in her ear. “We’re being followed. Hold my hand
and run.”

Run? Melting came to
mind, but running? How could she run when he kissed her until the bones in her
legs turned to jelly? Plus, she was wearing new high heels.

His arms squeezed her for an instant. “Now.”

He grabbed her hand, and they took off. They dodged throngs
of pedestrians and at one point, Niko hurtled over a poodle, its protective
owner shouting in French outrage, calling him a fool. “Fou! Fou! Mon chien, mon
chien!”

Alyson had done her
fair share of running, especially after her break up with Chaz. Running was a
stress reliever; so were the Stair Master and martial arts. Still, those activities
were done in sneakers or barefooted, not high heels. Stilettos, no less. Oh,
and the thong. Let’s not forget the damn thong chafing her in places she didn’t
want to think about. She’d kill Gwen when she got home.

“Faster, Aly!”

“You put me in three-inch heels and expect me to run fast?
You bossy Frenchman with a foot

fetish.” She stumbled, and he caught her.

“Typical woman. Kiss her once and she figures she has the
right to bitch at you.” Niko’s head

turned, evidently scanning the area as they ran.

She tried jerking her arm free of his ironclad grasp. “So
help me, God, if that terrorist doesn’t kill you, I will.”

He pulled her around two uniformed nannies pushing toddlers
in strollers. “Promises. Promises.”

Niko quickly glanced up and down the wide tree-lined street
and evidently seeing a slight break in traffic, ordered, “To the other side.
Now.”

They bolted across the four-lane boulevard and its
well-manicured median. Two motorbikes rumbled past, nearly hitting them. Horns
blared as several Renaults and Smart Cars barreled down the street.

Niko shoved her out of the way and she fell, her hands and
knees scraping on the asphalt. Brakes screeched and there was a dull thud
behind her. She glanced back over her shoulder just as Niko rolled across the
hood of a silver car. He never broke stride. “Run, dammit!”

“That must account for your great legs. Which reminds me—”
he slid the ottoman back and picked up her foot “—I promised you a foot
massage.”

Oh, good Lord. “That’s really not necessary.” His thumb
pressed into the ball of her foot, and she wanted to whimper.“Your feet have
taken a beating today. Running in those new high heels couldn’t have been

comfortable.”

His magic fingers rubbed and kneaded the muscles of her foot
and toes. She sighed in pure

pleasure, or purred. God bless magic fingers.

“Yet you never once complained. You’re a strong woman, Aly.”
He bent and placed a gentle kiss to her toes and then to the instep of her
foot, as his warm hands continued kneading her flesh.

“I…I’ve never had my toes kissed before.”

His dark head rose and chocolate eyes stared at her before
he tilted his head to the side, as if

regarding every nuance of her expression. “I have so much I
could teach you, cherie. You deserve to be cherished.” He bent and kissed her
ankle as his large hands moved slowly up her leg, rubbing her sore calves.
“Your skin is so soft. A man could die happy after touching you and feeling you
respond to him. Men dream of such a reaction from a woman.” His fingertips
played a sonata on her skin. Feather-light touches hummed promises. Her body
sang its own sultry reply.

“Your calf muscles are tight. Did you use bath salts when
you bathed?” He seemed intent on

rubbing her muscles into submission. Her womanly muscles had
already succumbed by this point.

“Good.” One warm hand slid behind her knee, slowly raising
it. “Are these scrapes from when you fell this afternoon? He kissed first one
and then the other, slow, sensual kisses. Oh, good Lord! How much more can I
take before I haul him to me and beg him to end this thing?

His palms slowly rubbed her thighs, then stilled. “What do
we have here?” A finger pushed the hem of her sleep shorts higher. “A tat?” His
dark gaze swept to hers and his voice dropped to a sensual whisper. “I never
imagined you would have a tattoo. You know I never cared much for butterflies—”
he placed a kiss on the blue and purple butterfly “—but my opinion of them has
suddenly changed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Vonnie
will be awarding a $25.00 Amazon gift card to a randomly drawn commenter during
the tour. So, the more you follow and comment, the greater your chances to win!

Vonnie Davis
holds a degree in English with a concentration in technical writing from Penn
State. She is retired and has traded in her technical writer’s tailored clothes
for the feather boa of a romance writer. Her debut novel, Storm’s Interlude,
was awarded the HOLT Medallion Award of Merit in two categories: Best book by a
Virginia author and Best Mainstream Single Title. She lives in southern
Virginia with her husband, who is also a writer.

Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Junco Coot
can’t even remember her trip off Earth; she was too busy being morphed into her
new avian body.But reality hits her
hard when she wakes up to find her new life is not what she expected. Not even
close. Tier is on trial for disobeying his commander’s kill order and only
Junco seems to care.

In most places
the avian coming-of-age Fledge ritual would be nothing more than mass murder,
but here in the capital city of Amelia, it’s called growing up. Junco has no
choice; either fight to the death to prove her worth or get sent back to Earth
in the hands of her enemies.

Her new
military team is hostile, her body is being taken over by an illicit artificial
intelligence, the avian president wants her dead, and her only friend is a
ten-year old throwaway boy.

On a foreign
habitat, in a foreign culture, and surrounded by people she can’t trust or
count on, Junco must find a way to save herself and Tier without losing her
immortal soul in the process.

FIRST CHAPTER

I burst out of the tank and the
desperate gasp for air is like a prairie devil sucking up a farmhouse. My fists
latch on to anything that will prevent me from going back under as waves of
thick goo slosh around my body. Only the whine of plasma charge snaps me out of
it and I allow a multitude of hands to grasp my arms and keep me still as the
voice booms next to my head.

“Don’t make me regret letting you
live, Junco.”

I cough and somewhere deep inside
my vomit reflex is triggered. Shit comes up, clogging my airway and making me
struggle against the firm hands. Since my eyes are still glued shut, I have no
idea what comes out.

They pull me up out of the tank –
completely out of the tank – so that I’m in mid-air for a few seconds, and then
my feet hit the cold tile floor. My legs know what to do, but it’s not
happening. They drag me and I count six pairs of boots as we travel. Damn. Six
fucking avians for me. I’m about to feel special when I’m dumped on the floor.
A door snaps shut and I know I am alone.

A hydraulic click makes me twitch
as my heart pounds in my chest. I take a deep breath and Tier’s words come back
to me. Trust no one. Show no weakness. I count to five to calm myself,
breathing in and out, up and down, and then scoot on the floor until I bump
into a wall. My hands flail out, finding a rail, then I pull myself up and
force my legs to stand. My whole body shakes with fear, atrophy and cold, but
the legs hold and I straighten my back, let go of the railing, and lift my
chin.

And wait as the thick, sticky
tank goo crusts in the ventilated room. My body feels lighter than normal and I
realize that gravity must be less than one-G.

It helps.

A fine mist sprays out in all
directions and I lift my arms up to let it coat me all over. It is only then,
when my muscles are asked to respond, that I realize what’s happened.

The smile comes out and I laugh,
soft at first, then wildly, hysterical, and I turn my face upward to the
drizzle as my lids are freed from their prison. Hot water blasts the soap off
my body and I finally open my eyes.

I expel the fear.

I’ve been reborn.

The water drenches me and then I
step back to wipe my eyes and look around, holding the handrail for support.
It’s a shower room, obviously. Small, but I can see through the clear surround
that there are close to a hundred of them all lined up. Mine is the only one in
use at the moment. I look through the glass to try and see if anyone is around,
but the large room outside the stall appears empty.

My attention returns to my shower
and I lather my new body with gel provided by a wall dispenser. When my hands
touch my chest and upper back I gasp with the changes. My upper body is pure
muscle. The smile creeps along my face as I imagine the new power this will
bring to my old skills. I turn my head to try and see my wings but all I get is
a glimpse of the tips as they roll over to cup my shoulders.

The water cuts off and the hot
air blasts me in all directions, making my long hair fly up and whip around my
face. Several minutes later the door opens with a click and my hair falls flat
as the wind ceases.

I scan the room and count more
than two dozen possible surveillance points, then step out and look down the
long row of empty showers and start walking. At the end I find a small pile of
clothes inside a cubby. One small square filled among hundreds that are empty.

I take the clothes and walk over
towards a flat piece of furniture that sits low to the ground. I’ve worn Tier’s
shirts back on Earth, so I know it goes over my head. I fuss with the bodice,
noticing that the missing fingers on my left hand are still missing (oh well,
one can hope) and then the remaining digits automatically track to the SEAR
wound that runs the length of my jaw on the left side. I drag a fingertip down
the raised line of scar tissue and allow my mind to jerk back to the memory.

And then let it go.

It is what it is.

My attention returns to my girls,
which need to be smashed down into the cups of the upper body garment. Tier’s
shirt never had cups and they feel heavier than I remember, so it’s a struggle
to get them to cooperate before sealing up the sides.

In the end it fits like it was
tailored specifically for me.

The pants are made of the same
black material as the top, synthetic, thick as light armor, and soft. They slip
on easily up to my hips and it’s only then that I notice my SEAR dock under my
belly button is completely covered by skin. I touch it and the dock opens,
revealing the small blue wand within.

I admit, I have to hold back my revulsion.

“Do not remove the weapon,
Junco.” The voice on the speaker is emotionless and direct.

I completely ignore it and slip
the SEAR knife into my hand. My thumb flicks over the small imperfection near
the tapered end and it comes to life with a buzz. Another smile graces my face.
I flick it off and dock it, then look up and find what may be the closest
surveillance point. “You went through all this just to kill me in the waiting
room? I don’t think so. It’s mine and I’ll take it out whenever I want.”

I button my pants and move on to
the socks and boots.

This time I’m stumped. My feet
are no longer feet and I stare at them in awe. Or maybe confusion, I’m not
quite sure. Four toes and they are extraordinarily long. All point forward, but
the two outer toes seem to have a mind of their own and can point sideways and
almost backwards, if I wiggle them enough. I get up and walk around a little,
looking down as I try out the new digits. They move and adjust as I change my
pace. The talons clack on the hard tile and I imagine what it would feel like
to clutch things. I wrangle them back into the forward position and tug on the
socks and boots.

When I’m finished a door opens
and I walk through.

The space is empty except for a
mirror long enough to allow hundreds of avians to gawk at their new bodies at
the same time. I stand there, stunned at what I see. I flex my back muscles and
the wings respond. One stretches out to its full length and then retracts and
folds, cupping back over my shoulder. I squeeze the muscles a little and I feel
them collapse completely against my back. It makes me look human for a moment
and I grin back at my reflection.

My wings are not black. I get
close to the mirror and try to see my back. They are a strange color – not
white, not cream, not tan, not brown, not gray – a mottled mixture of all these
hues. I squint at my eyes in the mirror, moving my head back and forth to get a
clear look at them, expecting to see orange like Moju’s or green like Tier’s.
But they haven’t changed at all and a grunt of disgust leaks out of my mouth.

“Well, that fucking sucks. Not
only do I still have hazel eyes, but you fuckers gave me hazel wings too.” I
look up, but get no answer. Then I whisper under my breath, “That is so fucked
up.”

I’m done looking, satisfied with
the novelty of my new body, but the next door does not open. I think of how I
should act so that I don’t show weakness and decide on boredom. I lean my wings
against the wall and then slide my back down until I’m sitting on the floor. I
tilt my head back and close my eyes and my mother’s voice is in my head.
Patience and inertia are not the same thing.

She’s right after all. So I wait.
And think about where Tier is. Hell, where I am for that matter. Are we in the
Band? I’m not really even sure where the Band is, but Tier talked about it
before we left Earth a few times. And then my thoughts slip back to Earth – to
Selia. Did she get the message out? To Slag – what did he do after we left? To
Moju. My hearts aches for him and I let a little frown cross my face before I
catch it.

This seems to be the magic signal
that I am calm and ready to be rational, because the door opens and a man walks
in.

He doesn’t look avian. For a
moment I wonder if I ever left Earth. But I feel the weight of the wings and
the lightness of the less-than-G gravity and let that go. It doesn’t matter
where I am – I am no longer human.

He’s not a friendly looking man
with his height and muscular bulk, not to mention the down-turned mouth and
intense stare. His suit is black, tailored, and screaming money. His hair is
fair and this too is different. So far all the avians I’ve ever met had black
hair. Except me of course. My hair is still the same ugly auburn brown. His
complexion is fair as well and his smile as he approaches me is forced.

I look up at him for a moment,
then get to my feet and wait.

“I’m Lucan, Junco. Your new
commander.” His voice is deep and calm. Almost soothing.

“You don’t look like a commander,”
I say, raising my eyebrows at him. For one, he’s not that old. Maybe early
thirties. And for two, he’s wearing a fucking suit. I don’t get it.

He gives me an indulgent smile,
like I’m a toddler. “You’ve never seen an avian commander, so how would you
know what one looks like?”

I watch his deep blue eyes as he
talks, find the power there and make myself behave. “You’re right. It’s a
pleasure to meet you, Commander Lucan. Should I salute? Shake? You’ll have to
forgive me, I am almost one hundred percent ignorant of your culture.”

Another indulgent smile as he
extends his hand. “We can do it your way, if you like.”

I take his hand and shake it
politely. “I would not like, actually. I would prefer to know how I am expected
to act.”

He retracts his hand. “We’ll get
to that in time. But for now I’d like to know how you came to be on my habitat
when I gave a direct order to kill you two months ago.”

I smile. “Oh, that’s easy,” I
say, still grinning up at him, “I was invited, of course.”

“Ah, yes, your invitation. Would
you like to know where Tier is?”

“Not especially, no.”

His brow furrows at my answer and
I tuck down a smile. I can play too, buddy. Let’s dance.

“Well, Junco, that surprises me.
I think he would very much like to know where you are.”

I shrug and turn my back to him
and walk a few paces, testing out my wings and feeling my new talons move and
be restrained inside my boot. God, no wonder Moju was barefoot. It’s kind of
annoying.

“I’m nothing to him. He’s nothing
to me. Why would we care what the other is doing?” I turn back and wait. Patience
is not inertia, Junco. “He brought me back because I can be used and I came
because, well – I’m sure you probably realize why staying on Earth wasn’t a
real option for me.”

He smiles again. I don’t. My face
will crack if I have to keep up this fake shit much longer. He turns sideways
towards the door and waves his arm, signaling for me to pass through ahead of
him.

I do and I am met by six avian
guards with their plasma rifles pointed at my head. I listen to their footsteps
and decide they are the same guys who just saw me naked and covered in goo not
too long ago and shoot them a smile.

They keep their aim true and
ignore me.

Lucan and I walk side by side
down a long hallway wide enough to drive a few tanks through back on Earth. My
gaze stays straight ahead and I do not gawk up or around, but instead listen to
our footfalls echo as we travel. The guards match our pace and they surround me
in a semi-circle, walking sideways to target me.

I look at Lucan’s face and he
feels my gaze and directs his eyes down in expectation. “I think it’s possible
you’ve misjudged me, Commander. I’m just one small girl. Do you really think
you need six heavily armed men plus yourself to control the situation? If so,
you will seriously inflate my ego.”

He sighs and I know the charade
is over. “Junco, we know exactly who you are, what you do, and what you’re
capable of – so you will excuse my enthusiasm for protection until we can all
come together on the same page. I ordered you to keep that weapon of yours,” he
hesitates as he points to my stomach and I squint up at him, “sheathed. Yet you
insisted on removing it.”

“Commander Lucan, that weapon is
biologically attached to me. Taking it out and giving it a quick check was like
wiggling my new toes. A simple reflex to make sure everything is working.” I
reach for it and the rifles emit an electric field so strong it pushes me backwards.
“Cool it, guys. I’d be happy to hand it over if it makes you feel better.”

“Hands off, Junco. You will not
use that weapon here, do you understand?” I don’t meet his gaze and I don’t
agree to his terms, so he continues, “I would take it, but it cannot stay away
from you for long, we tried while you were under. It was – not ideal.”

I shrug. “I lived without it for
weeks on Earth.”

“This isn’t Earth.”

Yeah, I think I’m getting
that, thanks. “Well, you know, I can’t help it the thing is attached to me.
It wasn’t like anyone asked if I wanted a biological weapon grafted onto my
body, ya know.”

He stops in the hallway and waves
the men off a bit. Without the echo of boots the only sounds are the
environmental units pumping out conditioned air. The guards step back but the
rifles are still on alert. “Junco, I’m not playing games. This sweet-talking
you gave Tier will not work on me. So save your breath.”

I laugh out loud this time, I
can’t help it. He gives it a good shot, but he’s unsure what to make of me and
it shows. “Commander, I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, but it certainly
wasn’t Tier if you think the reason I am alive and fucking up your habitat is
because of my wily ways with men. Tier and I had no conversations about what he
was and was not doing beyond a handful of words the very last time we talked.”

Lucan’s composure is back and his
lip curls up slightly as he speaks. “Is that so? Well, Tier must be mistaken
then, because he said something quite different.”

I don’t even miss a beat. “You’re
a liar. He never said anything other than what I just stated because that was
the truth. And if you know so much about me, then you know that death carries
very little meaning at the moment. You can try and kill me if you want – I
don’t give a shit. I have nothing to lose. You’re no different than the
assholes I left back on Earth and if you really want to know what I’m doing on
your habitat, you better ask yourself. We both know I’m here because you want
me for something.”

I watch the guard behind Lucan raise
his eyebrows at me and smile, then redirect my eyes back to Lucan’s face and
wait for his reply.

He turns and continues to walk
and I catch up and walk by his side. We travel in the echo of our footsteps
once again and then he stops at a door, palms his hand over the biometrics and
it slides open. He waves me in and I step through, but he stays where he is.

“Goodbye for now, Miss Coot.” And
then the door closes.

I turn and find Layla gaping at
me from the far side of the room. I look up and around and she smiles and waves
the thought away. “No cameras allowed here, Junco. I’m so glad to see you!” She
walks over to me and hugs me to her chest.

I return her hug and push her
back. “What did they do to Tier?”

She winces at his name and shakes
her head. Her mouth drops downward as she speaks. “He’s fucked, Junco. On trial
for treason.”

The room is a cross between a
lab, a clinic, and a hotel. It screams Junco’s new vivarium. I pull a chair
from the table and sit across from Layla as she waits patiently for me to
settle. The chairs are strange, with only a thin backrest, but as soon as I
lean back I understand why. It supports my spine without crimping or impinging
on my new wings. I slouch a bit, even though the straight back makes it
difficult, and feel very tired and sad. Since Tier’s warning instructed me to
trust no one, I have to presume that Layla will deliver reports on my moods and
behavior and force a neutral expression as I wait for her to give me some sort
of explanation.

She smiles and then lets out a
long breath. “When we discussed everything that could happen when we brought
you back, Junco, treason never even entered the realm of possibilities. But” –
she hesitates – “here we are.”

“What were the possibilities?” I
ask as I avert my eyes and study the furniture. In the living area there is a
bed, a desk, a large screen on the wall, and a bedside table. I see a door that
might lead to a bathroom. That takes up about a quarter of the space.

About half is devoted to medical
and lab equipment – centrifuges of various shapes and sizes, some molecular
cloning machines, glassware of course, a bench lined with bottles of chemicals,
buffers, pipettes, books, a plate reader, cell sorter, a few medium sized
coolers, a hood for tissue culture, four microscopes, a gleaming stainless
steel minus-80 freezer for samples, and lots of other stuff that looks like it
belongs in a research facility. Let’s just call it a well-stocked, scratch
that, a well-funded lab.

The other corner has a counter
that holds canisters filled with paper goods, 2x2 gauze, cotton-tipped
applicators, shit like that. There is also a built-in sink and glass front
cupboards that hold enough drugs to treat a small town back in the RR.

“Demotion, mostly. We thought
maybe if we were really fucked they’d kick us out of the Aves. We spent quite a
few hours talking about what we’d do if they did.”

My brow furrows and I try and put
it together. “Are you and Tier – together?”

Her smile is crooked. “No, Junco.
I’m on his team, his scientist. We’ve been together, hell, since he came out of
Fledge really. Not counting that stint I did on Lacerion for post-training in
moleculars.”

“Sorry, I feel a little lost
here, ya know. I have no idea who he is, only that I agreed to let him bring me
here. We never discussed anything that might happen afterward, so–”

“Well, we figured you’d be like a
bonus – one of the Seven that we thought was lost but wasn’t. We were pretty
sure it was gonna work fine, Junco. It’s not like we were just yanking ya on
that end. And it did, right? Look at ya! So pretty.”

Her sudden pickup of Tier’s
speech patterns makes me swallow the sadness once again. “I don’t like the
color, to be honest.”

“Really?”

She looks a little hurt and I
wonder if she made me this way on purpose, but it’s too late now and I just
shrug. “I like the black wings. These,” I say, peeking back at their almost
yellow paleness, “feel like a target.”

“Oh, well. Sorry. I think they’re
beautiful. And I bet everyone else does too. You’ll see. Anyway, the whole
purpose of being on Earth was to get the Seven and bring them back. We knew you
were the Seventh,” her fingers do little air quotes, “and the Seventh Sibling
is not well-liked around here in theory. But we discussed this for days before
we came to the decision, Junco. I’m pure because someone made me that way.
Ditto for everyone else. So, if someone altered you as you grew up, and they
did – we know this – then how can you not be pure? Just because your
alterations took place after birth, why should that make any difference?”

I look away at her question
because I don’t want to think about anything right now, least of all my avian
biological status. “So, what went wrong?”

“After we put you under we let
the others come in, but you were undergoing the morph, so you had special
protected status. It’s a vulnerable position, right? Being unconscious for
weeks on end, helpless and under the control of your medical staff. They
couldn’t do anything to you then. They just had to wait it out.”

I don’t want to ask the question,
in case someone is listening or Layla is taking notes on my questions, but I do
anyway. “And Tier?”

She shrugs. “He’s ranking
officer, so they couldn’t do anything to him either, unless they wanted to
mutiny, which they didn’t. But, well, everyone has a boss. And Lucan wasn’t
happy when we arrived in the Band. They arrested Tier immediately.”

“The charges,” I ask, still
avoiding her eyes, “are treason?”

She nods and gives me a
half-hearted crooked smile when I finally look over at her.

“Because he didn’t kill me.”

This time she doesn’t acknowledge
me, just releases a deep breath.

“Anything else? Charges, I mean?”

“Something to do with breaking a
treaty. And the old stuff, the unauthorized murder charges. He was on – like a
probation – and they revoked it for this last charge.”

I nod and get up and walk across
the room to the bed. “This for me?”

She nods but doesn’t rise.

“And all this?” I say, pointing
to the medical equipment.

“Tests. Not today though, it’s
late and I’m sure you’re still tired. And,” she hesitates, “maybe it will help
to know that these feelings you’re having right now, the sadness and lethargy?
It’s normal, Junco. We all get this way after morph. It’s an endocrine
reaction, the changes really fuck you up. So whatever you’re feeling right now,
just give it a few days, OK?”

I sit on the bed and start
unlacing my boots.

“We’ll have to have guards in
here with you at all times, just for a little while, though.”

I shake my head without looking
up and write her off for good now.

“Ashur is taking the night shifts
and Braun is taking days.”

I remove the boots and the socks
and finger the blister that has formed on my right foot after the short walk
from the showers and I wonder for the first time how I will hold up in this new
environment.

Layla stands up and walks towards
the door, then turns back. “It’ll be better tomorrow. We’ll do the tests and
then you can leave here. You’ll see.”

I lie down on the bed and turn my
back to her.

“See you tomorrow. Ashur’s
outside, you remember him? From the battle at your house?”

I ignore her.

“OK, well, I’ll send him in on my
way out.”

“Layla?” I ask without turning to
look at her.

“Yes, Junco?”

“Why aren’t you on trial
for treason?”

“I’m his subordinate, Junco. He’s
my captain. I could no more deny his order to save you than anyone else on the
ship.”

I close my eyes and never even
hear the other avian enter because I simply shut down and go looking for the
dock.

But it’s gone.

So I settle for nightmares. They
come easy. History repeating.

I toss and turn in the bed as my
nose wrinkles with a familiar but out-of-place smell. It fades and my dream
takes me to my bedroom where I lie on the bed in my shorts and puff on a cigar,
happy with who I am.

Wait.

That wasn’t a dream, that was
real.

Where am I?

“Junco?”

The strange voice triggers my
reflexes. The SEAR comes out from under my shirt and I’m standing on the bed in
attack mode before I can even process all my actions.

The large avian is bent down in a
defensive stance, his plasma weapon pointing up at my head. “Junco! Put it
down, now!”

“Fuck!” I let out a long sigh and
retract the SEAR and slip it back into the dock. “What the fuck?”

He watches me step off the bed
and stand on the other side of the room, but he does not lower his weapon.

“Ashur?”

He nods.

“Put your fucking weapon away or
we’re gonna tangle.”

“You cannot take that knife out,
Junco. Ever. If you do, you’re going to get hurt.”

I shake my head at him. “It’s
docked. What more do you want? Put your weapon down, Ashur – or we will fight.”

He stands upright and slides his
weapon in the holster that hangs at his hip. My eyes trace the familiar smell
that woke me and I lean to look past Ashur. A smoldering cigar is sitting in an
ashtray on the table. “You did that on purpose.”

He gives me a crooked smile. “I
know you like them. And I was bored. Can you think of a better way to be woken
up?”

I just stand there, pissed.
“Well, yeah, actually. There are about a thousand better ways of being woken up
than having some strange guy in my room smoking a cigar that reminds me of
home. Thanks.”

Ashur walks over to me and takes
my arm and leads me over to the table where he was sitting before I went
commando on him. He points to the chair and slides a cigar over. “Here, have
one. Relax a little, shit. You’re so jumpy.”

I don’t have it in me to protest
and the little gray box that holds the cigar is calling my name. I slide it
out, press it to the striker, and puff. “Thanks.”

He takes his seat and I do the
same, then we both puff in silence as we watch the screen on the far wall. The
sound is off, but it’s the news so the captions at the bottom of the feed tell
all you need to know. I guess some things never change, no matter what world
you’re on.

“What time did I fall asleep?” I
say as my attention goes back to the screen.

“Eight or so.”

I nod. “Oh.”

“Done sleeping then?”

I look back at him. He could be
Tier’s brother, that’s how similar they are. “Probably.”

“Want some breakfast?”

“No.” Just the thought of food
makes me want to heave.

He takes his cigar out of his
mouth. “What do you mean, no? You haven’t eaten in almost two months.”

“Obviously that’s not true or I
would be dead. I’m definitely not hungry.”

He’s still holding his cigar in
his hand, not puffing. “I’ve already been warned about your eating habits,
Junco. I’m in charge of making you eat breakfast, so we’re having some.”

I screw up my face at him. “I
can’t think of a single person who would even know what my eating habits are,
Ashur. So spare me.”

“Both Layla and Tier mentioned
your lack of enthusiasm for food.”

I snort out a laugh. “And how
they hell would they know?”

“They said you were severely
undernourished when we took you, that’s how.”

“Which means nothing. You guys
got to see the tail end of what a very bad week does to my appetite, so what? I
wouldn’t base anything off what I did that week, let alone assume I have an
eating disorder.”

He gives me a look of
superiority, like he won the argument or something, then pushes back his chair
and exits the room through the door I thought was the bathroom last night.

I stub out the cigar and go back
to bed watching the newscreen. It’s all in English but it shows a lot of stuff
that makes no sense. Winged people fighting each other. Killing each other
actually, in what looks to be an advertisement for an upcoming arena fight of
some kind. Some more winged people having a party. Some people with no wings in
what looks to be a government session. Some personal interviews. I just sit
there in disbelief. I didn’t watch the screens much at home, only when on the
road, but it’s all a little too familiar. I traveled hundreds of thousands of
miles, millions maybe, and I’m on a totally different planet, habitat,
whatever, and still the news is filled with the same shit. Violence, parties,
and politics. The irony isn’t lost.

Ashur returns a few minutes later
with eggs and toast and beckons me to the table. At least it’s real food and
not that shit Tier tried to feed me in the cave. It doesn’t look horrible, but
my head shakes out a no as he slides the plate in front of me. I keep the
disgusted look as I meet his eyes. “If you make me eat that I’ll throw up.”

He shrugs and takes his seat,
shoving food in his mouth before he even settles. “It’s good, real eggs and
everything. Tier said you only eat fresh food, so lucky us, right?” He shoots
me a smile.

“Tier would have no idea, Ashur.
He saw me eat a total of three meals.”

“He’s the resident Junco expert,
like it or not, what he says goes. Might as well enjoy the food, Fledge food is
like military field rations.”

I force myself to eat three bites
and push the plate away.

“Ya know, you don’t have to make
everything so difficult, Junco. You can have it made here, if you want.”

“And what would I have to do in
order to have it made?”

“Follow the program,” he meets my
gaze, “and just do what you’re told for once.”

“For once? You’re an asshole.” I
let out a deep sigh, get up, and go flop down on the bed and bury my face in
the pillows. “I’m sorry I came here.”

I hear him set his fork down and
push back from the table and look up to see what he’s doing. His head is in his
hands. A gesture that reminds me of Tier when he was thinking out at the cabin,
right before he told me that he killed my father.

“Ya know something, Junco, we’re
probably all sorry you came here. Except one person, maybe. And that’s Tier. So
for fuck’s sake, try and do what you’re told for his benefit. The guy’s sitting
in prison for saving you and” – he lifts his head and stares at me with
bloodshot eyes – “and if I had it my way, Junco, I would have killed you myself
in order to save him from that.”

He stands up and walks to the
door. “If you need something, I’ll be outside until Layla comes.”

J. A. Huss never took a creative
writing class in her life. Some would say it shows. Others might cut her some
slack. She did however, get educated and graduated from Colorado State
University with a B.S. in Equine Science. She had grand dreams of getting a
Ph.D. but while she loves science, she hated academia and settled for a M.S. in
Forensic Toxicology from the University of Florida.

She went on to write science
curriculum for homeschoolers and now runs a successful home business that
creates and offers online science unit studies. When she’s not writing science
curriculum or fiction, she works as a farm inspector, traveling the Eastern
Plains of Colorado in variety of environmentally friendly vehicles that never
have four-wheel drive, so when she gets stuck in the mud in said vehicles, she
has to beg for assistance from anyone who will help her. She is not bitter
about that at all.

She’s always packing heat and she
is owned by two donkeys, five dogs, more chickens and ducks than she can count,
and of course, the real filthy animals, her kids. The I Am Just Junco series
was born after falling in love with the ugliest part of Colorado and the Rural
Republic is based on the area of the state she currently resides in, minus the
mutants, of course.